Unspoken love
by shotstarf
Summary: LOVE ACTUALLY : Mark and Juliet. How they felt and the aftermath. RR
1. The wedding, my funeral

This is a love actually fanfiction. I saw the movie, and I felt compelled to write a fanfiction about it, even though I've never written one before. Oh well, instincts come at weird times. =D  
  
It's focused on Mark/Juliet and it will alternate between Mark's and Juliet's POV, their thoughts during the movie itself and after the movie.  
  
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing Richard Curtis' idea.  
  
Mark's POV  
  
My best friend's getting married today. Good old Peter. I've known the bloke since we were kids, mere teenage punks. And look at him now, all grown up and getting married. Common sense of course would make me, his best friend, buddy of twelve years, the best man.  
  
It's the happiest day of Peter's life.  
  
And the saddest day of my life.  
  
The church's really huge, all sunny and filled to the brim with tons of people. His friends, her friends, his and her friends. well, you get the idea. And there I stood, all uncomfortable and stuffy like my grandpa Doyle in my wedding tie and coat.  
  
"No surprises?" Peter asked me, out of the blue, and it took me a moment to register the question. Stag night, male Brazilian prostitutes, you get the picture. Terrible mistake, and I'll be the first to eat that English pride and agree.  
  
The music started, and the doors opened. I picked my video cam, and started recording. I told Peter it was to remember his big day, but I lied. I would rather flush my head down the toilet. I wanted to see her.  
  
Juliet.  
  
You know how everyone has that ONE person made for them? Just one in the whole bleeding world? Juliet's my ONE. I knew it, felt it in my bones even before I knew her name. The video caught her smile, and I choked. Blond hair, bright smile, warm personality(so very uncommon for English girls). She was every Englishman's dream.  
  
I zoomed out to catch her in her white gown that hugged her every curve. Her wedding dress.  
  
The girl I love is marrying my best friend today. I wanted more than ever to stop the wedding, to scream out, to declare my eternal love for her, but I don't. Being the pathetic loser that I am, I film her, quietly, like an old perv, only much younger. A young perv then. Bloody hell.  
  
The only consolation I have is that she doesn't know I exist. I mean, she knows I exist. I am her husband's best friend; we've met, we even hung out for awhile. I am, English, and being curt is like my defensive mechanism. The very dry British wit and curtness, passed down from generations to generations.  
  
The point I'm making here, (and yes, there is a point), is that I'm head over heels in love with my best friend's newly-wedded wife, and she thinks I can't stand her. Blame it on the genes.  
  
I hear the choir starting to sing "All you need is love". Ah yes, a little surprise from me to my best friend. I love the man, he's like my brother, and I'd do anything to make sure it stays that way, even if it means ripping my bloody heart out.  
  
Here come the instruments. Great! Time to put on a smile, and be Mark, Peter's best friend.  
  
Bloody fucking hell.  
  
+++  
  
OK. This is my first fanfiction, so please, spare the flames for now. If you need me to correct anything, just tell me. So em, review! 


	2. Confessions of the dangerous videotape

I'm so excited over this whole fanfiction business that I'm writing the next chapter already! It's like the honeymoon period where everything seems to be so exciting. Haha. Enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: Richard Curtis thought the stories and characters. I'm just . . . borrowing them.  
  
Juliet's POV [This is after Mark cut off from their phone conversation]  
  
Well, of all the nerves, the stupid fellow actually cut me off! I'll be darned.  
  
Nope, can't do it. Some people are born finding faults with others, why am I born with the direct opposite? Was it something I said? Let's see now, I asked him if I could borrow the videotape he made of MY wedding because I, being hopeless at gadgets and stuffs, managed to turn my whole wedding video blue. I didn't say anything tactless, I should know, I'm English. We created tactless comments. In fact, come to think of it, we created the bloody language!  
  
All right, going way out of point. I'm really doing my best with the Mark situation, I am. I reckon I've been going all the way to make him like me, for the sake of Peter, mind you, but that bloke sure is hard to please. I really don't know what I did wrong. He seemed fairly decent when we first met, but after Peter formally introduced us, he got all stuffy and uptight.  
  
I'm pissed, I really am. I'm really a nice person, I think. What is it about me that ticks him off? You know what? I don't give shit no more. I'm going right to his place first thing tomorrow morning and get this whole tension business cleared up. That's right Juliet, you go girl!  
  
+++  
  
All right, all right. What do I do? What do I do?  
  
Ring the bell, you doofus.  
  
Right, right, the bell. Oh great Juliet, you've gone off the deep end. Talking to yourself now, haven't you? It's just Mark. What can he do to you? All right, ring the bell.  
  
"Banoffee pie?" I blurted out. Of course, now he's going to think of you as a moron on top of an arse. I opened my eyes wide, going for wide-eyed innocence.  
  
"No, thanks."  
  
"Thank God. It would have broken my heart if you'd said yes." Good grief, Jules, what's the matter with you. Invite yourself in. Go on now, do it!  
  
"Can I come in?" That's right babe, you're doing fine.  
  
"Ah-yeah-I'm a bit busy but . . ." Maybe not doing so fine after all, Jules. Oh who gives a damn. I'm walking in right now.  
  
"I was just passing and thought we might check that video thing out." Here comes the babbling. I hate being a babbler. Mark's giving me an excuse; one of his many. Really, that man cannot lie for nuts.  
  
"Mark. . . I know we've never gotten . . . friendly. But I just wanted to say - I hope it can't change. I'm nice - I really am. Apart from my terrible taste in pie. It would be good if we could be friends." All right Jules. Shut up. Shut up now.  
  
"Absolutely. Absolutely." Could he say those words with an even colder attitude? I'm hurt, I really am. Here I am, working my arse off trying to make him like me, and he's not even responding warmly. I don't expect big hugs but come on, will a smile kill? This just totally sums up how much he hates me.  
  
"Doesn't me we'll be able to find the video though. I had a real search . . ." That man must seriously think I'm stupid.  
  
"Well, there's one here that says 'Peter and Juliet's Wedding', do you think we might be on the right track?" I push the tape in the telly. I'm amused at his stuttering reply. As the tape began to roll, I feel a jolt of surprise. It was lovely, and I decided to tell him that.  
  
"That's gorgeous. Thank you Mark. You know . . . I actually look quite pretty." Can I be more egoistic? Mark's not answering. Oh great, now he think I AM egoistic. I just never get anything right, do I? Oh, bother about that later, it's my wedding video! One that's not blue!  
  
The video shows scenes and scenes of me, smiling, laughing, talking. Just me. . .  
  
Just me.  
  
No, it can't be. It's impossible. The man hates me!  
  
"They're all of me."  
  
"Yeah. . ."  
  
"But you don't like me." Good job Juliet, now you sound whiny.  
  
I watch Mark head towards the door. He turns suddenly, and gives me a bittersweet smile. "It's a self-preservation thing, you see." He leaves.  
  
I am shock. This is the kind of situation that only happens in the movies. Oh bloody hell, what am I supposed to do now? I can almost hear the sad music in the background. One of Dido's songs maybe. I take another look at the tape. It's Mark's, and I'll leave this way. After all, that's all he has.  
  
+++  
  
OK. This whole writing in POVs is not good because I have to keep minding my tenses and all. So, for the next chapters, it'll be in the third person. Anyway, review! 


	3. Words ARE sometimes louder than actions

Disclaimer: This story is mine, the characters are Richard Curtis'. I'm not making any money out of it, so don't sue. =P  
  
Mark paced back and forth, glancing at the door in front of him every now and then. His left hand held a small portable radio, and there were cardboards under his right arm. Breathing deeply, he gathered up the courage, and pressed the doorbell.  
  
+++  
  
Juliet was snuggling up to Peter, watching MTV, which was at the moment broadcasting Billy's new song: Christmas is all around. She was about to comment on the video when the doorbell rang. She untangled herself from Peter's embrace, went down and opened the front door.  
  
+++  
  
Mark stared at her, aware that his throat was dry, something that always seemed to happen when Juliet was around. Thank goodness he was well- prepared this time.  
  
"Oh, hi," Juliet greeted, obviously more than a little awkward. Juliet being Juliet, however, she gave him a smile.  
  
"Who is it?" Peter yelled from upstairs.  
  
Mark put his finger to his lips, signaling for Juliet to be silent. She raised her eyebrows, but kept quiet. Mark placed his radio gently on the ground, and revealed the first of many cardboards. On it, he had written in felt-pen "SAY IT'S CAROL SINGERS". Juliet hesitated for a brief moment, before shouting to Peter in reply.  
  
"It's carol singers."  
  
"Well, give them a quid and tell them to bugger off," Pete told her, and this time, both Mark and Juliet smiled at Pete's typical insensitivity. Mark pushed the button on his radio, and it started to play "Silent Night", carol singers version. It was obvious that he had done his homework. Juliet waited, in slight anticipation, her eyes twinkling in humor.  
  
Mark took another deep breath, and revealed the rest of the cards. This was what was written.  
  
WITH ANY LUCK BY NEXT YEAR  
  
I'LL BE GOING OUT WITH ONE OF THESE GIRLS (He showed her several pictures of gorgeous magazine models)  
  
Juliet gave a smile, the amusement showing on her near perfect features.  
  
BUT FOR NOW, LET ME SAY  
  
WITHOUT HOPE OR AGENDA  
  
JUST BECAUSE IT'S CHRISTMAS  
  
(AND AT CHRISTMAS YOU TELL THE TRUTH)  
  
There was a slight pause as Mark took his time to reveal the next card.  
  
TO ME, YOU ARE PERFECT  
  
Juliet's smile dimmed, and she looked down momentarily, awkward. Mark continued.  
  
AND MY WASTED HEART WILL LOVE YOU  
  
UNTIL YOU LOOK LIKE THIS. . . (He held up a picture of a disgusting looking mummified corpse)  
  
Juliet grinned, and shook her head slightly at the corniness of it all.  
  
MERRY CHRISTMAS  
  
She smiled. "Merry Christmas," she mouthed. She watched as he gave her thumbs-up, and taking his radio with him, left. She moved to the close the door, but stopped, and looked at Mark's departing silhouette. There was an unidentifiable feeling within her, an emotion that's familiar, and yet, she couldn't recognize it. Impulsively, she ran after him. Tapping his shoulders, Mark turned.  
  
Juliet placed her hands gently on his face, and looked into his eyes, a little taken back by the intensity of his stare. Gently, they kissed. It wasn't long, or passionate, but to Mark, it was heaven. He smiled sadly, and walked away.  
  
Softly, to himself, he spoke these words.  
  
"Enough. Enough now." And then he continued walking, away from Juliet, the girl who had just unknowingly given him strength to continue his unspoken love for her.  
  
A/N: Well? How was it? Review please. . . because it really means a lot. 


	4. Why?

Disclaimer: Nothing about love actually is mine. I'm just using the characters. I beg forbearance.

I haven't written much lately, blame it on the job I just got. It's like sucking the brain power out of me. Still, I'm back! =D

uChapter 4/u

"Jules! Come look. Old Mac's at it again. Every bloody spring he goes and renovates his house. Daft old man," Peter called out to his wife, the excitement evident in his voice. Julia rolled her eyes as she imagined her husband leaning out the window like the perverted voyeur he is. No, of course he's not a voyeur, but she has terrible imagining powers, so. . .

"I just saw him just now when you called, Peter! Now, will you bloody let me watch Jamie Oliver in peace, you geezer?" There was a thundering of footsteps as Peter ran up the stairs. He gave him wife a grin.

"C'mon, what's the Oliver lad's got that I don't?" 

"He cooks?"

Peter frowned. "Right, right. There's that. But come now babe, how hard is it for a lad to cook? Just throw the pig in the oven, and there you go! Baked ham." He sat down next to Juliet, and she automatically leaned against his broad chest. He pointed to the telly. "There, see, Jamie's doing the exact same thing!" 

Juliet laughed. "You old fool." She switched off the television, and looked up at her husband. "So what's going to happen to you today?" Peter sighed, and stood up. 

"I will be drenched in the rain that the weather geezer reported while getting slammed in the face by doors trying to sell insurance to wankers, who if I have my way, will die before the day is over."

Juliet stood up too, and tip-toeing slightly, kissed him gently on the lips. "I'm glad you're going to have such a productive day." She walked her husband out the door, and gave him another kiss. He grinned and walked off, before stopping abruptly and turning to face her again.

"The tap in the kitchen's spoilt, ain't it?" Juliet affirmed his question with a nod. "Ah, you know me, I don't do maintenance well, the oaf I am. Times are bad, hon, so let's not hire the plumber yeah?"

Juliet opened her mouth to protest, but Peter beat her to it. "Before you throw a wobbly and lock me out of the house, I've got'en Mark to come round later to fix it."

At the name of Mark's, Juliet blushed involuntarily. 

"You all right there, hon? You seemed a little flushed," Peter asked, concernly taking a few steps towards her. She waved him off with an "I'm good". Not entirely convinced, Peter gave her a wave and sauntered off to work.

+++

"Ey! Anyone up in there?" Mark shouted, more than a little nervous at seeing Juliet. Alone. He breathed in deeply, his fist clenching the handle of his bulky toolbox almost involuntarily. He had been standing outside the house ringing the doorbell, and feeling like a right idiot, for the past ten minutes, after which he realized that the door wasn't locked after all. 

"Hello?" He called out again, taking a few more steps into the house and closing the oak door behind him. "Juliet? It's erm," he paused for a while, looking up the stairs, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her. "It's Mark. The bloke. Who'd be fixing your tap." He continued. He placed his heavy toolbox on the floor. "Peter's best friend," he shouted up the stairs. "Just in case," he added. "I'm not a criminal, so don't pop out with a baseball bat and all." He gave a nervous chuckle, before realizing how stupid he sounded talking to himself. 

Shrugging, he headed for the kitchen, a little disappointed at not seeing Juliet, but yet, relieved that he won't feel that guilty towards his best friend.

+++

Juliet opened the door, and looked at it in mild surprise. "I'm sure I locked it earlier. . ." She thought to herself, then decided that it was no big deal. After all, she was in a hurry when she left, and this was perhaps the safest neighborhood in all of London. She walked in, and promptly gave a shout of surprise.

"It's me! It's me!" Mark shouted over the din, trying to calm her down. 

"Bloody hell, Mark. How in blazes did you get in here?!" Juliet asked/exclaimed, as she bent down to pick up the bags she had dropped in her fright.

"The door wasn't locked," he explained. He helped her pick her stuff up and placed them on the table by the stairs. "Sorry," he apologized. 

"It's all right. I just didn't expect you so early," Juliet replied, a blush on her face. She would later tell herself that it was because of the fright, and not Mark's presence. "Tea?" 

"No thanks, I've got to be going. I still have a job. And now I need to change," Mark replied, waving at his wet shirt and pants.

"Trouble with the tap?" Juliet asked dryly, a smile on he face. Mark swallowed hard, and looked down, up, left and right. Anywhere but her face, with the gorgeous smile. 

"Yeah, trouble," he repeated. "Well, I've got to be running now, so goodbye. Have a nice day." He hurried to leave, but stopped when Juliet intercepted him.

"Come now, the temperature's still low outside. You'll get a cold. At least take off your clothes."

"WHAT?!" Mark's eyes bulged out of his sockets.

This time, Juliet's blush was obvious. "I mean. . ." She gave a resigned sigh, throwing her hands in the air. "Oh you know what I mean! Just take off your clothes, I'll lend you some of Peter's. A cup of hot tea, and you'll be fine." She spoke briefly, almost business-like, but it was evident that she was more than a little amused at the conversation. 

"Well. . ." Mark trailed off. It was cold outside, after all, and he wasn't that much of a dunce. "All right then." He gave her a tentative smile. "But only because you forced me."

"Because I forced you," Juliet replied, in a soft whisper, as though it was a conspiracy. She smiled at him, and once again, Mark felt his legs turn to jelly. As she walked towards the kitchen with her groceries, Mark collapsed on the couch, burying his head in his hand.

What has he gotten himself into?

+++

Juliet placed the groceries on the kitchen table, and walked towards the sink. She turned the tap, and a smile grew as water spilled from it. He fixed it, he really did. Her smile dimmed, as she remembered what she said to him.

"Take off your clothes?" She asked herself bitterly. He must think you as a blooming idiot, she thought, shaking her head. Popping her head out, she watched as Mark sat on the couch, albeit a little violently, and her heart began to pummel wildly. She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorframe.

What has she gotten herself into?

A/N: I finally updated! Shocking! Now it's your turn to review, cos it does inspire me. Really. 


	5. Friends

Disclaimer: Richard Curtis owns Love Actually. Sniff.  
  
There was silence in the room, except for the occasional sound of Mark sipping his tea. He stared straight forward, clad in fresh dry clothes. Beside him, on the other end of the couch, sat Juliet, also looking straight ahead.  
  
There was a deep sigh, and Mark turned slightly.  
  
"So," he started, trying to make conversation. "So. . ." C'mon you fool, think of something! Think! "Good tea," he finally forced out, cringing at his stupidity.  
  
Juliet turned, amusement obvious on her face. A corner of her mouth lifted up in a shadow of a smile. "Good tea," she agreed. She met his eyes, and Mark looked away awkwardly. Silence again.  
  
"Oh bloody hell!" Juliet shouted suddenly, waving her hands in the air. Shocked, Mark fumbled, and his tea spilled over his pants. "Oh crap," Juliet said. "Oh crap crap crap. I am so sorry," she apologized, grabbing a bunch of napkins. She reached over to wipe the mess, and then stopped when she realized which part of his pants he had spilled on.  
  
Sensing the tension, Mark took the napkins gently from her, waving away her apology. "No big deal," he told her. "Happens all the time."  
  
Juliet was not consoled. She shook her head in disgust, falling back against the chair. "I'm a fool, a bloody tosser. All I wanted was to be friends with you, for Peter. And then things have to get all complicated."  
  
Mark kept silent for a short moment, before giving her a "devil-may-care" smile. "We're Brits," he told her. "Complicated bastards, the whole bunch of us." He threw the napkins into the dustbin. "You see, if we were Yanks, now things would be different." He gestured to her.  
  
Juliet raised her eyebrows. "And why would it be different?"  
  
"Because," Mark paused dramatically. "Because the Yankees are simple-minded fools. They don't have our power of imagination."  
  
"And that's why America's perhaps the greatest country in the world," Juliet quipped sarcastically.  
  
"Exactly!" Mark applauded, slamming his hands on the table, like an eccentric professor. "That's why America's the greatest country in the world," he repeated.  
  
"You're a fool, you know that," Juliet informed him, and Mark nodded.  
  
"Who else but a fool would fall for his best friend's wife?"  
  
The words came out before he could stop it, and Juliet's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.  
  
"I'm sorry," Mark told her. "See, Brit," he pointed to himself. "Complicated bastard." He cleared his throat. "Things were going fine, weren't they?" he asked quietly. "I've ruined it again, haven't I? I'm a bloody tosser, I am." He shook his head, and his eyes peering out from his behind hooded eyelids.  
  
"Hey," Juliet said, making her tone light. "Now we know you're a true Brit! I always secretly thought you were a yank at heart."  
  
Mark furrowed his brows, confused for a moment, and then he smiled widely, giving her a smile to show her that he appreciated her attempt to bury the tension, so to speak, again. "Well. . . Just because I watch the NFL and I have a poster of a very sweaty Shaq O'Neal in my room does not mean I'm a Yankee." He paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. "Or gay."  
  
"Well, thanks for making that clear, Mark."  
  
"Oh ha bloody ha. I'll have you know that I watched every coverage of the woman's football world cup."  
  
"Oh, you weren't chosen to be in the English team then? Sad," Juliet quipped, laughing. Mark's breath caught in his throat at the sound of it, but he forced himself to swallow the desire to reach over and kiss her.  
  
"You think you're just so funny. I was the star of the Maxford Academy football team! If it wasn't for photography, I'll probably be playing in Arsenal as we speak. So there!" Mark informed her, somewhat pompously.  
  
However, instead of a comeback, Juliet's eyes widened. "You're a gooner too?" She asked. "I figured you for a devil's fan, like Peter?"  
  
"The whole Manchester United thing is just so overrated," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "Peter was never smart," he added, grinning. "Did Pete ever tell you about the time. . . "  
  
+++  
  
"So, babe, how was plumbing with Mark?" Peter asked, his eyebrows raised. "I hope it didn't go too badly, seeing how he can be a wank at times."  
  
Juliet shook her head, as she laid down beside her husband. "Nope, it went really well." At Peter's surprised stare, she smiled. "Your wife can be charming when she must." Peter laughed, gave her a quick kiss, and laid his head on his pillow.  
  
"Well, good. Now Mark can accompany you whenever I'm not free. After all, who else can I trust to protect my beautiful wife from other lads, right?" Peter closed his eyes contently, not bothering to wait for Juliet's reply.  
  
Juliet looked at her husband, and then she too closed her eyes.  
  
+++  
  
The telly burst into static, and Mark reached over to yet again rewind the wedding video of his best friend's. The muscle in his jaw tightened as he breathed in the beauty of Juliet. Sighing at his lack of a social life, he smiled a bittersweet smile.  
  
If the photography gig failed, at least he would be comforted to know he was a perverted stalker in the making.  
  
With that neurotic thought, Mark closed his eyes contently, and dreamed of Juliet.  
  
+++  
  
A/N: Arsenal FC: Football club in London, England.  
Gooner: An Arsenal's fan.  
Devil's fan: Manchester United FC's fan.  
Manchester United FC: Football club in Manchester, England.  
  
Sorry, my friend wanted me to put the football clubs in. Nuts about football, my friend, and so I decided it would make a nice belated Christmas present for her if I put her favorite team in my story. Anyway, please please do review, even though I'm taking eons to update. Blame it on the writer's block, and the lack of romance. . . =D 


	6. Another burden: just shoot me

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
A loud knock on the door woke Mark Turner up from his sleep. He blinked once, and returned to his deep slumber. Another insistent series of knock drew him from his sweet sleep. With a loud frustrated shout at no one in particular, he stormed out to the living room and threw open the door, opening his mouth to tell the person who was knocking at his door at such an illegal hour in the morning where he would like to stuff the unfortunate person's head.  
  
"Listen mate! It's five bloody o'clock in the. . . Oh hey Pete, come on in." Mark gave a rueful grin at his best friend, combing back his hair in an attempt to un-mess it. Peter walked in, obviously just finishing a business meeting. His short hair was neatly gelled in what Mark privately referred to as "nerdy Pete hair" and his tie was still knotted around the collar of his dark blue shirt.  
  
"Late night at work, mate?" Mark asked, walking to the adjourning kitchen to make a cup of instant coffee for his friend. Peter shook his head, nodded, before shaking his head again.  
  
"Marcus, you're my best friend. You're like my priest! I tell you everything, don't I?"  
  
"Sometimes a little too much," Mark quipped, his face filled with amusement. "Get to the point Peter, what's up?" He stirred the coffee, watching as the powder dissolved into the hot water. He took the hot drink and walked out.  
  
"Right, of course, to the point," Peter repeated. "Simply put, I just had sex with a woman. Another woman," he clarified. "And I think I might love her." The cup Mark was holding fell to the floor, scalding his fingers in the process.  
  
"Shit," Mark cursed violently. Peter stood up, his eyes wild.  
  
"Don't tell Juliet, Mark. Please. I mean, that's the reason why I went to you. The guilt is bloody eating me up. I'm a wank, I know." Mark looked up and glared at his best friend in anger. Ignoring the mess on the floor, he grabbed his best friend by the collar.  
  
"Damn it Pete! You're worse than a wank, you bloody. . . wank!" Mark ended, slightly put off by his not-so-emphatic statement. "You've been married, what? Three months, and already you're sleeping with some bitch?!"  
  
"She's not some bitch," Peter bit back harshly. "In fact, she's better than most of the birds you ever dated!"  
  
Mark sneered. "I don't doubt that, but I don't think she's much better. I mean, Peter, have you ever thought about Juliet? How could ANYONE possibly, in their right mind, or even in their most insane moments cheat on her? You should be thankful she's your wife. Besides from her horrible taste in pie, she's the most wonderful woman in the world!" He stopped, red-faced, his heart beating wildly in his chest for more than one reason.  
  
*Oh shit. Did I say too much? Stupid stupid fool. Could you BE more obvious about your love for your two-faced, lying jerk of a best friend's wife?*  
  
Thankfully, the mention of Juliet's name seemed to stun Peter for a moment, and he didn't notice the intense statement. He shook his head, and sighed heavily, sitting down on the couch again. "You think I haven't thought about her? It pains me to be lying to Jules. But I love her, I do. And I promise myself, everyday, to break up with Helene."  
  
"Helene? That's the other one?" Mark asked carefully, looking at his best friend. Peter nodded. "Then why haven't you?"  
  
"Because I think I might be in love with her," Peter replied softly.  
  
Mark gave a harsh bark. "How can you love two at one time, Peter?" Peter shrugged, his eyes filled with burden. "Pete, why did you tell me all these? If you want sympathy, it's your own fault and I'm not going to give you that so you can bloody well sod off. If you want support," Mark paused. "You, better than anyone know that I will definitely not give you that. My old man screwed around too, and that's why I've got such a fucked-up family. My mum didn't deserve it, and neither does Juliet."  
  
"I just needed to tell someone about it. And you're the only one I can think of. You're like my brother, Mark."  
  
Mark's hard glare softened, and shook his head tiredly. "How long?" he asked.  
  
"A month now. She's my secretary."  
  
Mark gave a bittersweet smile. "The cliché-ness of it all, ey mate? You screwing your secretary." Peter returned the smile with one of his own.  
  
"So what're you going to do now, you big fat geezer?" Mark asked, keeping his tone light.  
  
Peter shrugged again. "I just came back from Helene's place. She told me she loves me, man. I don't know, I'm just really confused right now."  
  
"Sure you can sleep on my couch," Mark replied, walking to his bedroom. He came out a moment later with a pillow and a comforter. "Clean my floor, will you?" he asked, gesturing to the spilled coffee, a grin on his face.  
  
"Least I can do, mate," Peter agreed, nodding his head.  
  
"Right then, goodnight." Mark shuffled back to his room.  
  
"Marcus," Peter called out. Mark stopped, but didn't turn. "I love you, Mark, you know that?" There was a moment's pause, and then Mark turned. This time, there was no smile. His eyes were hard as he replied.  
  
"Don't worry, I won't tell Juliet." He turned and walked back to his bedroom, closing the door loudly.  
  
+++  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Mark jumped, and nearly dropped the frame of photos he was juggling. "Christopher Columbus," he exclaimed, putting the photos down on a nearby table.  
  
"Christopher Columbus?" Juliet asked, amused.  
  
"My mum used to say that when I was in the room," Mark explained, stepping away from Juliet and pretending to busy himself with something else. "Got so used to it that it comes out once in a while."  
  
"Really? I would never have guessed," Juliet quipped sarcastically. Her beautiful features worked into a frown as she surveyed Mark. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." Mark replied, a little quickly.  
  
"Peter stayed over last night, didn't he?"  
  
At Peter's name, Mark's head shot up. "Yes, but we didn't do anything. Just slept. Not together of course. Just in the. . ." He trailed off, rubbing his head tiredly. "I'm sounding gay again, aren't I?"  
  
"A little. Look at you, all nervous. If I didn't know better, I would think you're keeping something from me. Not going to wait until another Christmas to scare me, are you?"  
  
Mark laughed nervously. "Keeping something from you? No, no. . ." He changed the subject abruptly, but Juliet didn't push. "So, ready to have some pictures taken?"  
  
"Nothing of the pornography material, right?" Now it was Juliet's turn to be nervous. Mark cracked a genuine smile, his first, since he heard the news.  
  
"I promise, you don't have to get undressed. After all, I've got to put up something clothed. I can't have another one of those bloody teenage tossers complaining to their parents. Or any of those parents going to the bobby to complain." He gave a mock-disgusted sigh. "I mean, it's art, people, ART!" He waved his hands dramatically, and they both cracked up in laughter.  
  
As Juliet posed for the camera, grinning and teasing with every step, Mark replied with equal wit and cheer. But as they said their goodbyes and she left his gallery, Mark watched her leave, the burden so heavy that he wanted to throw it off and confess everything to Juliet. And he was tempted. After all, if the couple do break up, he could swoop in there and be her knight in shining amour (at least, that's one of his many fantasies). But he couldn't, wouldn't.  
  
He loved Peter, and he loved Juliet much more to see her get hurt. And so quietly, like what he has been doing for so long, he added another burden to his load.  
  
Mark Turner sighed, and closed the door to his gallery.  
  
+++  
  
A/N: Ok, if that sounded like it was THE END, it's not, so don't worry. =P. My computer was spoilt for awhile, but it's all right now, so I'm a-writing again! Please please please review. 


End file.
